


Come Stand With Me, My Darling Woman

by rideswraptors



Category: Lawless (2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-15 02:50:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12312363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rideswraptors/pseuds/rideswraptors
Summary: There was only one hard and fast rule at the Bondurant boys’ Blackwater station. Well, one rule most men didn’t have to learn the hard way. Don’t nobody mess with Maggie Beauford. Didn’t take a smart man to figure it, just one that liked living without holes or cuts or bones that would never heal proper.





	Come Stand With Me, My Darling Woman

**Author's Note:**

> Please forgive my terrible attempt at fluid dialect.

There was only one hard and fast rule at the Bondurant boys’ Blackwater station. Well, one rule most men didn’t have to learn the hard way.

Don’t nobody mess with Maggie Beauford.

Didn’t take a smart man to figure it, just one that liked living without holes or cuts or bones that would never heal proper.

Forrest rarely, if ever, went into town for any old reason, so she was usually with Jack. Sometimes Howard when he was sober. _If_ he was sober. The first time it happened, nobody saw it coming. Jack was chatting up the Minnix girl out in the road, having escorted Miss Maggie to the feed store. Now, folks had heard things about the Bondurants, naturally. Had heard quite a few tales about young Jack, too. He was the friendliest of the bunch, most proper looking, at any rate. Could talk to a man like that. And that whole blow up with Rakes few years back was unfortunate, but everybody assumed poor Jack lost his damn mind when the goddamn deputy murdered little Cricket Pate. Poor soul, bless him. Weren’t no one expecting Jack to do anything violent like that again.

Denny Clemson was some drunk sonuva bitch passing through town looking for work. Most folk didn’t like him, kicked him out just about every which way he went. But he hadn’t done much harm so far. That is, until he started shouting and harassing Miss Maggie on the road in plain daylight.

People eyed the situation warily, waiting for him to do something out of hand, not willing to intervene. But they didn’t have to. Jack Bondurant pulled out his Smith and Wesson, shot the hat right off Clemson’s head. Poor bastard hit the deck, dropping flat to his belly while the youngest Bondurant bore down on him and beat the ever-living shit out of him.

Left him right in the street, bleeding and crying for his mama.

Not a soul with any sense gave Miss Maggie trouble in town after that.

*

Proper folk don’t talk about what Howard Bondurant did to that poor bastard over the county line. Not a soul alive could prove it was him neither. And folks in Franklin knew better than to ask any specific like questions.

*

Certainly those same souls knew Forrest Bondurant well enough not to step foot in his establishment and insult his kin. What’s more, weren’t no one dumb enough, nor suicidal enough, to say anything untoward to Miss Maggie. You said yes, ma’am, no ma’am, please and thank you, and went on your merry way, if you liked your appendages and bones in all the right places.

Like I said, some folks learn the hard way.

Few of us were at the station. Miss Maggie made a mean stew, and we came in after our shifts at the factories for dinner and brandy. Since they’d started opening up, new folk were coming through. Drifters and such. Some stayed, some didn’t. Miss Maggie didn’t mind neither way, she served everybody with a smile and kind words. She liked dancing to the music she had playing, and we all made sure to keep it respectful like, cheering her on and such. Everybody knew Forrest was right round the corner, cuttin’ deals and counting their earnings from the day. Them Bondurants were still making a tidy living from bootleggin’, and nobody in the county was about to give them any trouble for it.

Well, it was one such night, same as most, with just some quiet chatter and clinking dinnerware. Miss Maggie was frying up chops on the stove, chatting back and forth with Jack and some of the other customers. I was sitting with my fellow co-workers, three of which were new to Franklin. They were fresh young things, hoping to keep moving north as the money came in. Couldn’t blame them none, more opportunities up there. I liked it just fine in my hometown, and had no use for more’n what I owned. They were talking about all their big ideas and crazy plans. I hmmm’d and hawed, and generally ignored their foolishness. Should’ve been paying more attention, I guess.

“Now if I’d know’d they make ‘em like that up here in Franklin County, I’da moved here quicker,” the eldest of the bunch said. Courtney. Hank Courtney, said his name was. I didn’t like him much. Had a big mouth and a bad temper. Didn’t do anybody no good on the factory floor.

“Watcha mean?” another one of them asked. Hank nodded in Miss Maggie’s direction. She was smiling big cause her favorite song came on, and she was doing them little spins she liked. Jack was laughing, telling her she looked like a wobbly deer. Some of the others were clapping in time and she got all red in the face, making a short bow when she was done. Cute woman. Not worth the blood and bruises though.

Those with some brains in their skulls immediately turned back to their suppers, myself included.

“Think she’d step out with me? Go to that dance in town?” The others laughed in his face, jostled him playfully, mocked his manhood and such. I just shook my head, hoping someone else would tell him before Forrest had to. No luck there.

Shit for brains got up and went to sit at the counter, smirk on his face like he was some goddamn champion bull fighter. Fuck these kids.

“Should somebody go git the sheriff?” Isaac muttered, picking up a bite of stew.

Jonathan snorted, “Best be a doctor, if yer gunna.”

“Hush,” I snapped at them. “Y’on’t go bringin’ the law ‘round here.”

“Somebody oughta tell ‘im.”

“She will,” I said simply.

“And if he don’t take no fer a answer?”

I just shrugged and went back to my dinner. Then Forrest would.

*

Maggie had just been really enjoying herself for once. She could let her guard down at the station when it wasn’t too crowded, of course, but usually, she felt paranoid. Paranoid about who stayed too long, who drank too much, whose eyes lingered too long and where. Old habit. Defense mechanism. _Survival_ mechanism, Forrest’s quiet, gravelly voice corrected. She repeated it to herself now. Survivor, not defensive victim. Being with Forrest had changed a good many things about Maggie Beauford. First was how she thought about herself. One time she told Forrest she was used up, hollowed out, no good for him. Forrest spent that night running her fingers over every one of his scars and told her just how he got them. Turns out, he was pretty used up too. She said she was scared all the time, in the way, just another thing for him to worry about. Forrest told her being scared was the only smart thing to do, and that he’d rather worry over her than not have her. Then he bought her a pistol and taught her to shoot it. Not to mention, she was rarely a few feet from a Bondurant when other men were around. She and Bertha took it squirrel hunting after drinking enough moonshine to scare the bajesus out of the boys. Brought home a few squirrels for supper, though. Forrest wasn’t too impressed.

Point was, that usually, if she was having fun when it wasn’t just her the boys and maybe Bertha, something always went wrong. Always.

Spotting new customers was old hat to her. She had four. Made sure she was plenty nice and let them know what’s what. Most of the regulars knew to have the newcomers sitting away from the counter, just so Maggie could adjust to them. They were a sweet crowd, and she’d grown pretty fond of most of them. Which is the only reason why Forrest didn’t sit glaring at them from the corner no more. Fool man.

So here she was, dancing and having a lark, listening to Jack tease her some about how silly she looked, and then some jackass had to come up and ask her if it hurt falling from heaven. Because she was obviously an angel. A shot of adrenaline went straight to her gut, but she didn’t let it show. Instead, she smiled and thanked him for the compliment, then went back to the stove. As far away as she could get without alerting anybody. Except Jack, of course. He sidled around the counter, leaning up against the column of the bar.

“I can go get Forrest,” he muttered quietly, lighting up a cigarette.

“No, you will not,” she hissed, flipping the meat on the griddle. “Just some fool running his mouth. Don’t you dare.”

Jack nodded, blowing out the smoke, eyeing her hard. “If I don’t, they will.” He tossed his head in the direction of the customers. “Won’t like it any better coming from them.”

Maggie scowled, “Won’t like it any worse either. Jack Bondurant, don’t go causing me no trouble. Sit and eat the supper I made you.”

With a wry smirk, he dipped his head at her and winked, “Yes ma’am, thank you ma’am. Anything for you, Miss Maggie.” His intonation mimicked a good many of the men who came through. The ones who knew what happened when you were disrespectful, anyway. She swatted at him, sending him snickering off to his dinner plate like the big man child he was.

“Aww damn,” came the overly friendly newcomer’s voice from behind her. “Don’t tell me yer shackin’ up with that skinny cracker. Boy must be packin’ to keep a woman like you.” Maggie sunk, wishing men were smarter. She ignored him, but didn’t miss the dark look from Dewey Dixon, his fourth cup into the apple brandy and no intention of stopping soon. With a bad feeling in her gut, she plated up Mason’s order and went to take it to his table.

“Shouldn’ta said tha’,” Dewey grumbled. “Ain’t no good.”

She heard the man whistle low, “Maybe not, but look at them _gams_. I’d killa man to get those legs wrapped up ‘round me.” Maggie felt every muscle in her body stiffen, hoping she could stave off the flashbacks.

“Welp,” Dewey said, shooting back his drink, “Somebody’s gunner get kilt.” He slammed the glass down and dropped his money on the counter, standing to leave. “And it sure as hell ain’t gunner be me. G’night Miss Maggie,” he said cheerfully, raising his hand to her before ducking out of the station. She waved back with a heavy sigh. Dewey certainly wasn’t wrong, and he always knew when it was best to cut his losses and leave. Didn’t bode well. Unfortunately, the only place left to go without alerting Forrest to her distress was back behind the counter. So it was just her and the newcomer. Jack wasn’t too far away, but she’d told him to butt out, and since Forrest was near enough by, he would do as she said. For now.

She made her way back, swinging back around the counter to pocket Dewey’s money and clean up his mess. Somebody called to her for more brandy and another for more chops. She acknowledged them both with a nod and set about it.

“Ey, honey, when do you get off yer shift? Maybe we’s could go somewhere.”

She poured the brandy with a scowl. “No, thank you.”

“Oh, come on baby,” he said waggling her brows at him. “I could show yew a real good time. Betcher a lot a fun, too.” Maggie eyed him coldly. She knew too many men like him. More good looking than smart and not really all that good looking. They were cocky and rude, and never shut up about themselves. He seemed young enough, dark eyes, sandy hair cut fashionably for these parts. His clothes were old but neat. Probably because of his mama or he bought ‘em secondhand. More than enough to tempt the average woman. Not her, though. And she’d already said no.

“I said _no thank you_. I’m not interested.”

He sucked his teeth at her, spitting on the floor. “No need to be a goddamn bitch about it.” He said it a bit louder than he should have, not realizing how quiet the place had gotten. But Maggie did. With another sigh, she looked toward the office to see Forrest posted up against the frame, arms crossed and expression dark.

A collective groan went up and there was a clattering as people dropped their forks to their plates and pushed their chairs back. In groups of twos and threes, they went outside, asking to bum cigarettes and matches while they waited.

“What the hell?” the newcomer asked, watching them go. Maggie was still watching Forrest, waiting for him to make his move.

“My man doesn’t like it when men talk to me like you just did.”

The idiot whipped around with smirked. “Any sonuva bitch dumb ‘nough to let a looker like you outta his sight is a fuckin’ nance. Trust me, baby, I can do it better for ya.” He winked at her again and reached over the counter to grab her wrist. Maggie just shook her head. They never seemed to have any sense of self-preservation.

“Honey, you best knock back that bit of moonshine, cause yer gunna need it.”

Poor fool was barely able to get out a confused “What?” before Forrest was knocking him to the floor, knuckle dusters in place. Sent him sprawling across the floor, dazed and lip bloodied.

“Baby!” Maggie snapped. “You break one of my chairs again—!” She started her threat, but Forrest whipped around with a calcitrant look on his face, muttering _sorry_ before grumbling at Jack to get the door. His younger brother sauntered over to the door, cigarette between his lips, in just enough time for Forrest, holding his victim by the scruff of his shirt and pants, to toss the poor thing through the door and onto the dirt. Forrest went after him, puffed up, with a vengeance. Jack, however, lingered in the door like the announcer at some prize fight.

“We got fresh meat, gentlemen!” he shouted laughingly into the outdoors. There was a loud cheer from their customers and applause, which faded on slightly as the door slammed shut behind him.

Maggie just shook her head and went to dig up some more jars of brandy. Thank the lord Howard was at the stills tonight.

*

She didn’t wait for him to come back. And she didn’t have to ask what would happen. Forrest would beat the man to a pulp, then drive him to and dump him at the hospital. Jack would keep the customers corralled outside until he came back, else he’d bring them in and give them a jar each on the house for the disruption. This time, she didn’t bother waiting for any of it. She cleaned up what she had to clean up, closed down the kitchen, and went up to bed. To hell with him and his nonsense. Some days… _ooh!_

Maggie washed her face, changed into her warmest nightgown and got into her bed, trying to stamp down her irritation long enough to fall asleep. It wasn’t working very well. She loved and hated when the boys got rowdy in her defense. Sometimes it was justified, sometimes it wasn’t. Either way, it made her feel safe and angry at the same time. Safe for obvious reasons, and angry because that’s just how her “boss” was back in Chicago. Not for the same motivation, of course, he was looking to get paid for her, and the boys, well they just loved her. But the result was the same. All this whoopee over nothing. She carried a gun at her waist and a neat little knife Howard had given her at her ankle. There was no reason for Forrest to get all riled up over some passing comments. She’d dealt with _much_ worse in Chicago and survived it all the same. Maggie punched her pillow and flopped over.

“Now yew ain’t mad at that pillow none. Don’ needta be hittin’ on it.” Forrest’s soft voice drifted to her from the doorway. She looked over to see him standing smack dab in the middle of it and not a toe further inside. Good. Let him sweat a little. Whenever he knew she was fed up with him, he always waited for permission to come to bed. And yes, there were times when he slept in the office instead, or else, on the porch.

Instead of snapping back at him, she re-situated herself on the bed, ignoring him completely. That was enough permission for him, apparently. He moved slowly in, stripping down for bed, and sat on the side. Stiff and reeking of blood and sweat. Maggie wasn’t unused to that combination of smell anymore.

“Yew all right?” She was stubbornly silent, but Forrest still waited until she nodded. “Dinit hurt ya none, did he?”

“No.”

Silence penetrated again. That was most of Maggie’s life now. Silences. Forrest didn’t say much, but he meant whatever it was he said. No lies or tricks or candy-coating from him, just plain and simple truths. Maggie liked the quiet. Craved it, even. But there were shades of quiet, tones and blends that she had learned to navigate. And she wasn’t going to let this rotten one bother her.

“Dinit hurt ‘im…much,” he offered with a big roll of a shrug.

“That’s not the point, Forrest!” she snapped back. “You know I hate it. And you know _damn_ well why!”

Third time’s the charm, they joked. Next time’ll be the last time, the predicted. She wanted to rip all their tongues out, shove them down their throats until they choked on them.

“Just because you have to be stupid and noble and acting like a goddamn—!” Her words were cut off by him rolling on top of her and pinning her down, nose to nose, and his eyes flashing with something feral. Maggie had to let her eyes flutter open and shut a few times, focused on the heavy pressure of his chest on hers, hands flat but holding her hands down. She pushed her lungs up against her chest, inhaled deeply, exhaled slow, and let him sink against her. He stayed that way, silent, for three whole minutes. Waiting.

“Better?” he mumbled, breath ghosting over her lips. Her nod was probably barely perceptible, but he closed the space between them to kiss her anyway. His hands automatically released hers, and he pushed himself up to his elbows to give her some space, but kept right on kissing her thoroughly like he was a dying, starving man having his last meal. Maggie clawed back at him just as fiercely, keeping up with his relentless pace, pushing him onward. She barely noticed that his pants were suddenly gone, barely noticed him wrenching off and flinging her gown to the side.

Because then he was inside her, thrusting up into her core, and re-burning his mark into her flesh there. Maggie nearly screamed for it.

“Never lettin’ them touch’ya,” he growled out, pulling her legs around his waist. “ _Mine_.” He plundered her mouth brutally, jerking into her with renewed gusto. Maggie squeezed her legs around him, clenched down when he pulled away from her, clawed at his shoulders and neck to keep his mouth on hers. It was messy and too rough, and exactly what she needed.

But then he was pulling back from her altogether, sitting up on his knees, lifting her hips to adjust to the new angle. He pushed inside her slow and measured, rubbing her clit with his thumb in opposite time. He touched her with the same hands he used to break another man’s face. Saved all his gentleness for her, saved all the pleasure he could give for her. Just her. When it was just them.  Maggie crumpled, clenching down _hard_ as she shot apart in every direction, chanting his name, reaching for him. She wasn’t satisfied until he came inside her, until he gave into her needy demand for closeness. Forrest came crashing down on her, nearly crushing her. But Maggie didn’t care because she had his mouth back for luscious, languorous kisses that made her ache. He rolled to his side, off of her, but kept his arms tight around her back, and she threw a leg over his hips to keep him closer.

He slowed their kisses, pecking softly but firmly at her lips until they were nose to nose again. He clenched his fingers in her skin, hips pulsing up against her.

“Don’t like it when yer scared,” he mumbled so quietly that she wouldn’t have heard it if they weren’t face to face.

“I’m not scared when you’re around, Forrest,” she whispered back.

“He touched you,” Forrest argued back. Maggie wriggled against him, settling her hips more firmly into the bend of him. One of his big hands drifted down, lingering on her leg, cupping her thigh against him.

“Jack and Howie touch me all the time.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, “Wit _kindness_.”

And Maggie couldn’t help the smile that stretched across her lips. Leave it to Forrest Bondurant to make that distinction. Not blind jealousy, not out of control possessiveness. Genuine, distinct concern for her person. She brought the hand from his shoulder up to cup his face and kissed him soundly.

“You are something else, husband,” she whispered against his lips. He pulled a face at her, confused by the reaction, but Maggie just bit her lip and kissed him again. “I love you somethin’ crazy,” she said. “God help me, I do.” Forrest only grunted, but that was how he always responded. If she were less secure, she might have thought on it, but she never had.

“Yer mine, Maggie,” he mumbled, “and s’bout time they all know’d it.” He finished his sentence by kissing her hard, and then he started kissing a line down her neck and shoulders, locking on her nipples in turn. His hand drifted down to her center again, teasing.

She purred, arching into him, “I think every man this side o’ the county line knows it, Forrest Bondurant.”

He bit playfully, his kisses tracking lower and lower. “Best start on the next one over, then.”

And when his thick lips latched onto her clit, Maggie was fairly certain she’d let him thrash every man in West Virginia if it meant keeping his face between her legs.

*

There was only one hard and fast rule at Blackwater Station. Well, one rule that most men had to learn the hard way.

You didn’t mess with no Bondurants.

Sure, them three had a fearsome reputation. Legends about them not being able to die swept all over the county. And they sure did like to prove it on occasion. Problem was, a man could get to fixated on watching for what’s coming at him. And overlooking the obvious is what gotcha in trouble.

Spring of 1932, Forrest broke his leg while training a horse up for Maggie to ride. Just about everyone in town heard about, seeing as his youngest brother couldn’t stop flapping his gums about how hi-larious it was. Smart man would smile, make no comment, and move along.

Some men just weren’t that smart.

Maggie was dancing again, frying up chicken for the supper crowd and teasing Forrest who was sat at a nearby table with his leg propped up on a chair, immobile. He couldn’t get away from her silliness. Had him huffin’ and scowling about womenfolk making trouble while she danced her way back from filling up Herman’s coffee. Maggie just laughed and bent to kiss his cheek. When she pulled away, Forrest caught her wrist before she got too far. He had that look in his eyes that never failed to turn her to mush. Hot, buttery mush. She slid back and dropped a short kiss on his lips, catching his eyes and winking, before going back to the kitchen.

Now Forrest, he knew most of the men that done came through Franklin on occasion, knew all the folk that lived in this county and the next one. But more and more factories were popping up every year now, and more and more young men were trucking through for one reason or another. He didn’t much like it. Didn’t trust no strangers. Especially not anyone from no goddamn city. What’s more, Maggie didn’t like it. Woman got more skittish than a bitty fawn when there were just a few too many strange men at the station. Forrest didn’t like it none when she got skittish.

This was one of them nights in particular. Lots of drunk locals, few too many young mens running their mouths. Jack had a lot to say about them, sure did. Word was going around that they were going to make liquor legal again, was making folk skittish about supply and demand. With all the folk passing through, they’d do just fine with the station. Howard and Jack didn’t feel right leaving the still unattended or under-guarded, so the pair of them were out that night, even though Forrest’s leg was all tore up. He left it out in plain sight, where any person could see he was gimping. Didn’t need a leg to shoot somebody. Most times, nobody gave him much trouble anyhow.

Maggie, though, that was another story.

He didn’t have the first clue in heaven or on earth why it was stupid men tried talking her up and touching on her. She was pretty little thing, sure, but there weren’t a soul in Franklin that didn’t know who she belonged to. What family spoke for her. Baffled the mind some, but Forrest tried not to think on it too much.

Well, not til that one feller put his hand on her hip while he was ordering. She jerked away just as fast, but the man only laughed. So did his friends. Shouldn’t a’ done that.

“Ya’ll best leave that woman alone,” Forrest said just loud enough for them hear. They settled down some, eyed him warily. Except for the loud one.

“Who’s he then? Goddamn king a’ England?” There was some light chuckling at that, and even Maggie smiled at bit at him.

“That there’s Forrest Bondurant.”

“I ain’t ever heard a’ him.”

Everyone went back to their suppers and drinks, right on as before. There was a little bit of grumbling from that particular table, but Forrest was a-keeping an eye on that. So he went back to quietly contemplating Maggie. She was looking good, put a little meat on her bones lately. Happy as a pig in the mud, making the station up, making it her home. Folks in town liked her too. Didn’t know much about her history, of course, but they liked her all the same. Even had some friends she went seein’ on occasion. Forrest didn’t think it right having any more ladies hanging around the station, but Maggie smiled sunshine when she came home from those visits.

She was shining something pretty right then too, swinging her hips around to the music playing on low, robin egg blue dress swinging with her. Bertha helped her keep up those pretty dresses of hers, but Forrest liked her newer ones. Plain and simple, fit her just right. He liked the ones she got dirty in, house dresses she wore when nobody else but him saw her. Clean linen and short, swinging skirts. He liked her looking dressed down and carefree, relaxed. He liked her smiling and goofing off, even if she was poking fun at him some in the process. She caught him looking from behind the counter and smiled bright, wrinkling her nose up some, and winking. Forrest knew that look anywhere. He flicked his eyes up at the rafters, but she just narrowed hers right back, nodding at his leg. Pssht. Fool woman.

Forrest sat back in his chair, hand to his mouth, watching her. Contemplating her. He was a lucky sonuva bitch. For more’n one reason. Maggie was adding up to near five of them.

But then her smile was dropping to a frown and his world was narrowing to a very focused point. That asshole from before was up and talking to her. With a grunt, Forrest heaved himself up from his chair, grabbing for his crutches. Didn’t take much for the men sitting around him to notice something was amiss, but they weren’t thinking he was gonna cause it. Maggie had made it very clear what would happen if he got up from his chair without permission. And he’d gone ahead and let her know just what he thought of that. Her response had been to put his crutches on the other side of the room and let him get to the chair himself. Hadn’t said a damn word against her for the next two weeks. But he’d had just about enough of this fool.

“Maggie,” he grunted, tossing his crutch aside, “this man botherin’ yew?”

“You got somethin’ ta say about, mister?” the man said, sidling his way up to Forrest, stretching up tall as if he could dismiss the disparity in their respective sizes.

“Seein’ as she’s my woman, ye-ah, I reckin’ I do.” Forrest had to put his weight on the counter, get it off his leg which was all casted up and stiff. Couldn’t hardly move none, but he could swing a fist if need be. Young man was up in his face now, closer than Forrest would usually allow.

“Forrest,” Maggie whispered a little too desperately. But Forrest wasn’t dumb none. She was warning him not to get stupid. He sighed.

“Ain’t no reason for you to come inta my place a’ business and be botherin’ nobody. So—,” he was about to call the men to kick his drunk ass out into the road, but he caught a glance of Maggie’s face and rolled his eyes. “Supper’s on the house, why don’t you just run ‘long now.”

As expected, the man laughed in his face. “An’ what if I got business here a’ mine own?” he asked on a mutter. Forrest flicked his gaze down, watching the man draw a switchblade from his vest. Forrest sighed again.

“Let me guess,” he said slowly, “Some jackass o’er the coun’y line tol’ ya there was some cash floatin’ round these parts and you thunk it a good idear to come up in here and kill me so as to take-it.”

The man smirked, showing his bad teeth and greedy eyes. Disgusting. “Somethin’ like that, yeah.”

“Ye-ah, s’what I thought. Might find some folk got somethin’ ta say ‘bout that.”

The man waved his knife, letting it flash in the low lamp light.

“Like who?”

When Forrest heard the click, he reached around to scratch at his neck, and leaned heavier against the counter. Maggie held her sweet little pistol, cocked and loaded, against right up against their customer’s temple.

“I might,” she said airily. The man froze where he was, his grip on the knife loose enough for Forrest to fish it out and slip it into his breast pocket, so as not to attract any more attention. Most of their customers were minding their own business anyway, standard practice in these parts. “Now,” Maggie continued sweetly, reaching into the man’s pocket and taking his cash. “Like my man told you, supper’s on the house. So why don’t you just head on home now, okay then, sugar?”

The man nodded shakily, stepping away with his hands up and shooting for the door. Forrest heard the click of Maggie’s gun and the soft rustle of her sliding it back into her waistline. The noise level in the room escalated to near intolerable as soon as the man left, telling Forrest they weren’t minding their own as much as he thought.

“They don’t ever learn, do they?” Maggie asked sliding an arm over his shoulders and pressing a kiss to his temple. He leaned into the touch, leaned into her warmth.

Nope, they sure dodn’t.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
